The Mirror of Erised
by amandagrace427
Summary: Just a series hopefully of one-shots about people's encounters with the Mirror of Erised. Sometimes their deepest, darkest desires aren't so surprising, but at other times...? So far in this collection: Tom Riddle, Age 15; Albus Dumbledore, Age 11;
1. Tom Riddle, Aged 17

Tom Riddle glided through the corridor as quietly as a ghost. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed, signaling curfew. He glanced in the direction of the noise contemptuously, not bothering to speed up. Why should he, after all? He was Tom Riddle, the most brilliant student Hogwarts ever had. He didn't bother with rules, and as far as he was concerned, no one bothered him about his disobedience.

In fact, he purposely slowed down, shuffling rather than striding now, openly flouting the rules. Why would he be in such a rush to go back to Slytherin House when he had the whole castle to explore? If worse came to it, he'd be discovered by a fawning teacher who would let him off with a warning and a disapproving wag of the finger. No one wanted to punish Tom Riddle, the intelligent Prefect. In most of the teacher's eyes, he was perfect.

Tom snorted. Not that he minded, of course. Their willingness to blind themselves to his faults came in handy when he got into trouble. It was nice to have the cover of the innocent but bright orphan to hide under. Only a select few, his closest confidantes, knew the true workings of his inner mind.

Confidantes, not friends, because Tom Riddle didn't have friends. He didn't have a need for them. And even among confidantes, he never trusted any one of them completely. He always spilled a secret in front of one person and confessed to a wrongdoing to another. Don't keep all your secrets in one basket, they say. And Tom Riddle, Jr. was smart, so he does exactly that.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and Tom stopped hastily in front of an open door. For a second, doubt flickered across his face, but in the blink of an eye, it was gone. He listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration.

From the swishing sound of cloaks brushing the ground, he guessed there were about two people approaching. He let out a breath of relief. Hopefully one of the would be Professor Slughorn. He would let Tom off easily. That abstruse little pig always treated Tom like he was the beacon of light in a sea of darkness. Not that Tom would disagree, of course.

Tom froze as a voice resonated through the silence. Just as he had hoped, it was Professor Slughorn, but his relief was short-lived. "So Albus," the pudgy Potions master squeaked. "What do you think of..."

Tom groaned as the voices got closer and closer. Leave Professor Dumbledore, the only one that seemed immune to Tom's charms, to be the one roaming the halls. Tom knew that if Professor Dumbledore caught him, punishment would be justly awarded. Of course, Professor Slughorn would just stand to the side, babbling about letting Tom off easily, but Professor Dumbledore was never easily swayed.

Tom slipped past the open door just as the two older wizards turned the corner. He stumbled into a corner, breathing heavily until the voices faded away.

As he turned around to leave, something bright caught his eye.

As if in a trance, he moved towards it, arms outstretched. He knew he should go away, because he couldn't stand seeing _her_ again, but the temptation was too strong. Halfway across the room, however, he stopped and turned back sharply. He couldn't- he shouldn't- go look in the Mirror of Erised, he told himself. He shouldn't let himself deal with the pain of seeing his greatest weakness.

He lost his composure as he fell to the ground, clutching his dark hair in a fit of passion. Why must the Mirror torture him like this? It seemed to follow him around haunting his dreams. He resolutely faced the door and marched toward it. He would allow himself to be affected by the Mirror no more.

Of course, it wasn't the actual mirror in itself that scared him, it was the image the he saw that stirred feelings in his chest, feelings so alien and vulnerable that he had to hurt himself to forget them. The first time he'd come across the mirror in his second year, he had only expected to see his image reflected back in the mirror. Imagine his surprise, then, as a woman stared back at him, her eyes hidden by her greasy hair hanging down in strands. Around her neck hung a necklace with the symbol of Slytherin engraved onto it. "Mom?" he had asked, reaching his hand out to the mirror.

His reflection had reached back as his mom smiled sadly and patted his reflection's shoulder tenderly, lovingly. A tall, willowy man then waltzed into the frame and kissed the woman on her cheek. Instantly, the woman's face broke out into a smile that washed away her uncleanliness. The man smiled out of the mirror at Tom and waved.

Tome had felt a stabbing pain in his gut as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Every part of the man seemed so familiar- Tom had the man's eyes and high, haughty facial structure- so why, then, did the man seem so aloof and far away?

He'd finally turned away from the mirror as the twisting feeling in his stomach became unbearable, and he fell to the ground, clutching himself. He had just seen his mother and his father, in love with each other. He looked at the mirror, torn between a strong urge to stare back into its enticing images and an equally strong urge to break it into this pieces. What was this horrid thing? Finally, he fumbled in his cloak, pointed his wand at the mirror, and muttered "Reducto."

The mirror had shattered, leaving a gaping hole in the wall behind it.

The next day, he had run to the library, where he'd found out that it was the Mirror of Erised, the mirror that shows everyone's deepest desire. He was horrified with himself. How could his deepest desire be one of love? Love was vulnerability, and he knew that. When he got back to Slytherin's dungeons, his head had still been swimming with traitorous images of a loving family. He had taken a knife and scratched at his wrists until they bled, until the pain overcame the longing that had suddenly bloomed in his chest.

Of course, over the course of the next few years, the mirror had appeared again and again, enticing Tom with its image of a beautiful family, and year after year, Tom had to cut himself to try and overcome his vulnerability.

Now, looking at the mirror, he sighed in defeat. If he didn't look in it, he wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the term. He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, looking at the white scars on his wrist to remind himself of the pain that looking in the mirror would cost him, but his feet involuntarily began to move closer and closer and closer.

And finally, he was within range of the mirror, and he squeezed his eyes shut, butterflies already exploding in his stomach. He braced himself for what he was about to see, trying to prepare himself from seeing the faces of his parents, but when he opened his eyes, the only person that stared back at him was himself.

He let out a deep breath, slightly confused. The Tom Riddle in the mirror stared back at him challengingly as shadows appeared behind him. They bowed down to him, and the Tom Riddle in the mirror cackled, a high, chilling sound. "That's right, bow down to your master," he grinned condescendingly, pointing his wand into the air.

In the mirror, a green mark exploded in the air, and suddenly, the real Tom Riddle understood. Power, not love, was his greatest desire now. Whoever said love was unconquerable was wrong.

Tom Riddle had just conquered love.


	2. Albus Dumbledore, Aged 11

Tom Riddle glided through the corridor as quietly as a ghost. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed, signaling curfew. He glanced in the direction of the noise contemptuously, not bothering to speed up. Why should he, after all? He was Tom Riddle, the most brilliant student Hogwarts ever had. He didn't bother with rules, and as far as he was concerned, no one bothered him about his disobedience.

In fact, he purposely slowed down, shuffling rather than striding now, openly flouting the rules. Why would he be in such a rush to go back to Slytherin House when he had the whole castle to explore? If worse came to it, he'd be discovered by a fawning teacher who would let him off with a warning and a disapproving wag of the finger. No one wanted to punish Tom Riddle, the intelligent Prefect. In most of the teacher's eyes, he was perfect.

Tom snorted. Not that he minded, of course. Their willingness to blind themselves to his faults came in handy when he got into trouble. It was nice to have the cover of the innocent but bright orphan to hide under. Only a select few, his closest confidantes, knew the true workings of his inner mind.

Confidantes, not friends, because Tom Riddle didn't have friends. He didn't have a need for them. And even among confidantes, he never trusted any one of them completely. He always spilled a secret in front of one person and confessed to a wrongdoing to another. Don't keep all your secrets in one basket, they say. And Tom Riddle, Jr. was smart, so he does exactly that.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and Tom stopped hastily in front of an open door. For a second, doubt flickered across his face, but in the blink of an eye, it was gone. He listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration.

From the swishing sound of cloaks brushing the ground, he guessed there were about two people approaching. He let out a breath of relief. Hopefully one of the would be Professor Slughorn. He would let Tom off easily. That abstruse little pig always treated Tom like he was the beacon of light in a sea of darkness. Not that Tom would disagree, of course.

Tom froze as a voice resonated through the silence. Just as he had hoped, it was Professor Slughorn, but his relief was short-lived. "So Albus," the pudgy Potions master squeaked. "What do you think of..."

Tom groaned as the voices got closer and closer. Leave Professor Dumbledore, the only one that seemed immune to Tom's charms, to be the one roaming the halls. Tom knew that if Professor Dumbledore caught him, punishment would be justly awarded. Of course, Professor Slughorn would just stand to the side, babbling about letting Tom off easily, but Professor Dumbledore was never easily swayed.

Tom slipped past the open door just as the two older wizards turned the corner. He stumbled into a corner, breathing heavily until the voices faded away.

As he turned around to leave, something bright caught his eye.

As if in a trance, he moved towards it, arms outstretched. He knew he should go away, because he couldn't stand seeing _her_ again, but the temptation was too strong. Halfway across the room, however, he stopped and turned back sharply. He couldn't- he shouldn't- go look in the Mirror of Erised, he told himself. He shouldn't let himself deal with the pain of seeing his greatest weakness.

He lost his composure as he fell to the ground, clutching his dark hair in a fit of passion. Why must the Mirror torture him like this? It seemed to follow him around haunting his dreams. He resolutely faced the door and marched toward it. He would allow himself to be affected by the Mirror no more.

Of course, it wasn't the actual mirror in itself that scared him, it was the image the he saw that stirred feelings in his chest, feelings so alien and vulnerable that he had to hurt himself to forget them. The first time he'd come across the mirror in his second year, he had only expected to see his image reflected back in the mirror. Imagine his surprise, then, as a woman stared back at him, her eyes hidden by her greasy hair hanging down in strands. Around her neck hung a necklace with the symbol of Slytherin engraved onto it. "Mom?" he had asked, reaching his hand out to the mirror.

His reflection had reached back as his mom smiled sadly and patted his reflection's shoulder tenderly, lovingly. A tall, willowy man then waltzed into the frame and kissed the woman on her cheek. Instantly, the woman's face broke out into a smile that washed away her uncleanliness. The man smiled out of the mirror at Tom and waved.

Tome had felt a stabbing pain in his gut as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Every part of the man seemed so familiar- Tom had the man's eyes and high, haughty facial structure- so why, then, did the man seem so aloof and far away?

He'd finally turned away from the mirror as the twisting feeling in his stomach became unbearable, and he fell to the ground, clutching himself. He had just seen his mother and his father, in love with each other. He looked at the mirror, torn between a strong urge to stare back into its enticing images and an equally strong urge to break it into this pieces. What was this horrid thing? Finally, he fumbled in his cloak, pointed his wand at the mirror, and muttered "Reducto."

The mirror had shattered, leaving a gaping hole in the wall behind it.

The next day, he had run to the library, where he'd found out that it was the Mirror of Erised, the mirror that shows everyone's deepest desire. He was horrified with himself. How could his deepest desire be one of love? Love was vulnerability, and he knew that. When he got back to Slytherin's dungeons, his head had still been swimming with traitorous images of a loving family. He had taken a knife and scratched at his wrists until they bled, until the pain overcame the longing that had suddenly bloomed in his chest.

Of course, over the course of the next few years, the mirror had appeared again and again, enticing Tom with its image of a beautiful family, and year after year, Tom had to cut himself to try and overcome his vulnerability.

Now, looking at the mirror, he sighed in defeat. If he didn't look in it, he wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the term. He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, looking at the white scars on his wrist to remind himself of the pain that looking in the mirror would cost him, but his feet involuntarily began to move closer and closer and closer.

And finally, he was within range of the mirror, and he squeezed his eyes shut, butterflies already exploding in his stomach. He braced himself for what he was about to see, trying to prepare himself from seeing the faces of his parents, but when he opened his eyes, the only person that stared back at him was himself.

He let out a deep breath, slightly confused. The Tom Riddle in the mirror stared back at him challengingly as shadows appeared behind him. They bowed down to him, and the Tom Riddle in the mirror cackled, a high, chilling sound. "That's right, bow down to your master," he grinned condescendingly, pointing his wand into the air.

In the mirror, a green mark exploded in the air, and suddenly, the real Tom Riddle understood. Power, not love, was his greatest desire now. Whoever said love was unconquerable was wrong.

Tom Riddle had just conquered love.


End file.
